That episode of Roseanne where her bathroom becomes a musical oasis just finished on the muted TV.  I remember being impressed by it as a girl.  This, of course, is the reaction of someone who could cry over a somewhat earnest episode of This Old House.  It has not, however, held up.  It just looks like a bathroom showcase, everyone looks old and crispy in their luxury, and I am, apparently, now much more impressed by the wry wit they managed in the regular show.  The kids were cute but also awful and imperfect, the relationships heavy and loving, everyone sarcastic as hell as a way of expressing their love and surviving their frustrations.  Nobody’s got money, everyone’s struggling, but there’s still a sense of nobility, moral expectation, and Roseanne and Dan are generally good people.

I hated it when they got rich at the end of the show’s run. I don’t like it when my media properties don’t understand their own nature. This episode was a taste of that vision.  /random Roseanne rant.

Today, a woman came into the shop and while everyone was in back, all the good salesladies, it was just me and somehow, I managed to sell her a necklace, earrings, and three Nepalese hand-knit fingerless gloves to the tune of nearly a $1000.00.  This was definitely my biggest one-time sale, a sale that is fairly decent in the schemes of things.  Suddenly, I felt both confident and rather sad that if this new job pans out, I’m having to step away from this little nest of security and pretty clothing.  I might still try and work Saturdays through December, if only because I want to keep the discount.  But also, people who earnestly care and want the best for me.  The other job has that, too, but it comes at something of a price.

Nobody knows what I’m doing save for the sister and a few others.  And if nothing comes of it, nobody will.  I just am starting to take it as fact, and that is a very dangerous place to be.

Last night I slept on the couch.  I know this because I dreamed I met comedian and soon to be new MST3K host Jonah Ray at a pizza parlor, with some other guy I didn’t recognize.  I gave him a color-by-number Jem coloring book with the cover torn off.   There were further details I won’t burden you with here, but shortly after he said the wryest recitation of the “truly, truly outrageous” line from the show’s theme music, and we all laughed cordially with how surreal life was, I woke up relieved that it was morning.

The day is coming.  Tits still feel off.  There’s a reason.  It’s just the monster that’s been in my head, my scalp, my feet, my teeth, my gums, my neck, my shoulders and is working its way around the body like a magic bullet – but it’s less than it was and now, we just wait for the job to reveal itself.

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